


In Every Gesture, Dignity and Love

by TheNarcolepticOne



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-13 10:03:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5703589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNarcolepticOne/pseuds/TheNarcolepticOne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After choosing to live in the forest as a way to escape the irritating city ruckus, Alfred Jones thought that this would be a perfect opportunity to take his survival skills one step up from hailing taxis and avoiding pickpockets. What he didn’t expect, however, was the rumored monster living in these parts wasn’t anything close to what four legs could even do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Every Gesture, Dignity and Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FranziskaEdelstein](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FranziskaEdelstein/gifts).



> Birthday present to a friend. And the title is from Paradise Lost. Turns out I've been really starting a lot multi-chapter fics and appearing to not finish them....ehehe...  
> It will happen.  
> I swear.

Allistor didn’t want to do it. He was always stuck with the same crap every day, but now he was dealing with the same crap _while_ handling a brother who was a pain in the ass to wake up. Bad luck ran in the family, of course, but he was the one who usually reaped the effects of it even more than his siblings did. He was sure Arthur even knew that it was the sixth time Allistor had lost that Rock Paper Scissors battle with Peter. But because he had to do it, he would, or else be yelled at. There was only one mother who was capable of doing so.

After arriving to the bedroom, he grabbed an unused pillow from Arthur’s bed before smacking him on the head with enough force to make the bed creak. Arthur screamed, and in a fit of anger, tossed the covers forward to throw the pillow back at him.

“I’m up – _I’m up!_ ” he shouted. “Bloody _fuck!_ You didn’t have to do that!”

Allistor caught the thrown pillow. He rose an eyebrow before cracking a smile. Arthur didn’t have time to see it. The Brit shoved the glasses onto his face and only saw it fading away back into that eternal frown.

“Mum’s angry. She told you to get up an hour ago and you didn’t budge. If you hurry up and get dressed, she probably won’t be upset and save you some breakfast.”

“Yes I _know that_. Now piss off. I’m getting up.”

When he heard him leave, Arthur removed the glasses again to rub his eyes. A side-glance toward his bedroom mirror revealed that his hair was standing up at odd ends while his eyes looked baggier than ever before. Being jostled every day of the week wasn’t a problem since it was summer, but he wouldn’t ever be able to catch up on any sleep at this rate.

After a yawn, he gave a lethargic stride over to the closet and dragged out the nice white-collar shirt and dress pants that were only worn on Sundays. Mass was coming after breakfast. This was routine too.

Arthur, to the fullest of honesty, didn’t enjoy going at all. Church to him meant another hour of his day wasted standing in front of a priest who gave a halfhearted homily with loud (but admittedly catchy) hymns.

The tie took some trouble putting on. Arthur stared at the mirror for a while, finally able to get his eyes past their half-lidded stage.

He looked like shit. It wasn’t even an expression. Summer months had not only added to the freckle count on his face and neck, but the bumped up prescription on his glasses were making him look dorkier every single school year.

All else aside, he just slipped into the shoes before continuing down the steps to the breakfast table. The smells of cooked eggs were faint now, and by the time he had stepped into the kitchen, the twins, Angus and Seamus, were finishing up their plates.

“Sorry, Art,” Seamus chimed, swallowing the last of his toast before picking up the plate to set in the sink. “We tried to save you some. Honest.”

“I’m sure.”

Arthur just took his seat without any other argument so that he could just eat his meal and be satisfied with it, even if there was barely enough scrambled eggs to fill even an eighth of his plate.

* * *

The church was packed, with everyone else not caring to mind that there were actually flies around in the room with at least three perched on top of someone’s head. He could feel the deodorant in his underarms wearing off drastically and he was sure his nose had (to his disgust) regulated to the smelly body odor that lingered in the air. His sweaty fingers drummed on the seat in front of him, and his eyes were no longer finding interest in watching someone talk. Instead, he stared at the large stained glass window above the altar. It was very mesmerizing, and Arthur had taken to counting how many pieces of glass were in it all together. It was beautiful too, but eerie all the same. Seeing Christ’s blood being poured into a goblet would make anyone foreigner think that this church was for a cult of cannibals. Figuratively, they were half right on that.

He shifted in his step, looking down to his shoes briefly. The choir was then heard humming again when the priest stopped his monologue. Consecration was coming up, but Arthur found it easier to imagine that there was probably comfy ventilation up there on the second floor behind him, where the choir was perched.

He turned his head toward the back to see them all in perfect rows of ten.

A hard pinch was felt on his arm and his eyes met his mother, who was giving him _that_ look.

“ _Eyes forward._ ” She hissed. Arthur drew his arm back while turning back around, biting his tongue to hold his annoyance as well. He rubbed the spot, staring a little down the line where they were seated to see all his brothers in a row. They all didn’t seem to dare move, like soldiers among the line of inspection. Dylan, however, was looking down at the Bible and attempting to sing.  He admired it a little bit, seeing as he was just as bad at Arthur when it came to anything really music related. He heard Peter yawn next to him.

The lines began to start up, and they were close to the front, meaning that they would thankfully be going first. Arthur followed down the line after his mother and brothers when their turn came. The closer they got to the altar, the hotter it seemed to be.

Arthur went to the priest, who was holding a bowl of thin white wafers. Up close, the old man wasn’t too tall or short. His eyes, however, were comparable to a snake’s in appearance; something that he had missed among the many other distractions that had happened within the hour.

He took the metaphorical “bread” into his mouth, chewing it up quickly. He then made a pass to the one holding the wine; now a woman who looked completely unsure about giving someone his age such a drink.

The liquid went past his lips and he cringed a little. It was incredibly sour. He wondered how his brothers were dealing with this.

Arthur hastily returned to his seat, wanting to sit down but opting not to just in case his mother would again pinch his already aching arm. He stared up front to watch the rest of the line follow through boredly, feeling the back of his neck collecting sweat as he tried to avoid eye-contact with the hot flames of the candles.

Arthur instead decided to recount the number of glass on the big window while he waited for the strong taste in his mouth to ease off.

* * *

There were at four penises carved onto the wood of his desk. Arthur groaned, putting his folders on top of them to avoid later blame. Mrs. McLaughlin’s lecture on the history of Julius Caesar wasn’t entirely engaging as he hoped it would be, but it was a hell of a lot more better than drawing his attention to the asshats that do all the shit around here.

The rumor must still be circulating around. Arthur had heard it once in passing, but hadn't thought about it until the beginning of this week. Sure, things like this were often, but he didn’t take that much mind to them usually. Everyone already knew who the Kirklands were, and even though they don’t actually get along, most got the impression that they would probably be the type to help each other out for the sake of brotherhood.

In reality, those bastards actually wouldn’t help any more so than the bystanders watching.

“ _Hey eyebrows!_ ”

“ _Psst!_ ”

Arthur adjusted his glasses. He did a silent count to ten before turning his head toward the voices.

Lucy and Tyler were giggling to each other, pointing at his desk seat like he hadn’t gotten the reference already. He rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the teacher.

Alright. So he _was_ gay. An attempted in-the-closet type that didn’t want to gain any unwanted attention (especially unwanted attention in an embarrassing way). It wasn’t his fault in the first place. Not since the incident with Susan and her attempt to seduce him via breast smothering during a James Bond marathon. It had been the time where he had made the comeback about being “uninterested”, and her revenge scheme encompassing Arthur’s possible homosexuality during casual conversation. It resulted in both social mockery and self-realization. That yes, indeed, he had imagined himself in the bed with at least one or two guys in his washroom while masturbating and that yes, he had found himself unable to stare at the rest of his peers in the locker room without turning bright red.

Arthur Kirkland was as in-the-closet as he could make himself. Mother would murder him if he were caught even _glancing_ at another’s jawline anyway, and a mind was free to think as it wants to. At least that was his response to it.

It didn’t take long for the bell to finally ring, and Arthur scribbled out extra reminders to himself about due dates before hastily shoving the rest of his stuff into his backpack.

He glanced back at the desk once more to reassure that he brought everything with him. Arthur clenched his teeth when he looked at the base of the chair.

He counted wrong. Make those _five_ penises.

* * *

Arthur’s heart was sporadically beating against his ribcage. Rory was talking to a few guys near his locker, and Arthur was sure he was going to faint before he got there to talk to him. His insides were turned inside out at the thought of this. It was completely away from his normal, introverted self, and as such, every fiber of his being wanted him to just go on and head to lunch without worry of anything that might go wrong.

But there wasn’t any progress in comfort.

Adolescent sexuality urges were going to kill him faster if that were the case, and even though he had only met the fellow for two whole school years, he was still feeling the same dizziness he had when he first realized he liked him a little more than a man-crush would suggest. He wasn’t normally picky about things, but _by God_ the man was attractive.

He swallowed. Actually, it was more of a joke made by one of the jocks at school. A single implication that made his face bloom like spring in the winter. Just because a rumor is implied to be false didn’t mean it couldn’t be true either. Arthur was sure that was the same with himself, and that already meant that they were in the same boat.

He cleaned his glasses with his sleeve before finally taking the initiative to walk over there.

“Oh, Arthur! Hey!”

_Stop walking you bloody fool don’t trip don’t trip._

When Arthur turned to meet his eyes, he paused. The aftershave he had on smelled simply divine.

“H-Hello, Rory. Do you have a minute?”

“Yes! Actually I do, but hold on – _BEN!_ ” he shouted from across the hallway, earning a few stares and a head turn. Arthur blushed and turned his head away slightly.

 _“I’ll meet up at your place afterschool, alright?!_ ”

A thumbs up was given as a response before Rory grinned at Arthur. Even that by itself was a little too much for him to handle. His body was already preparing for the retreat.

_Well it seems you’re busy. Sorry to be a burden but I’ll think I’ll be heading off to—_

“So what did you want to say?” Rory suddenly interrupted his thoughts.

“O-Oh, er…you’re meeting up with Ben later?”  
He laughed. “Yeah. He needs help fixing up his roof and all. Stupid thing broke last month and I’m offering to fix it up with him since his Dad might need the extra hands. Why?”

Arthur took a breath.

“Y-You know…we should talk later. You’re busy with something, and I don’t really want to bother you on it.”

Rory rose an eyebrow before grabbing his hand to take him to the washroom. “Oh don’t sweat it! I’m all ears. Just because I’m busy doesn’t mean you have to act all dry.”

Arthur couldn’t hold back the nervousness, but he fought it off well with a smile of his own. His heart was beating way to fast and the room probably echoed.

“Well…alright. I-I was um…”

“…yeah?”

“Well you see…”

Arthur couldn’t take it. He knew this was already starting off but he couldn’t get the right way to say it. Before he could even calculate what his mind was doing, he brought his mouth to his. Chapped lips opened up to a hot breath and he nearly melted into his arms. Everything, however, came to a halt when his head caught up with the moment and strong hands shoved him back against the stalls. He looked to see Rory with a shocked expression, paralyzed and unsure of how to process it.

“ _What the actual fuck?!_ ” Rory screeched as he backed off. The heartbeat in Arthur’s chest worsened from anticipated excitement to an angry swarm of bees threatening to burst out of him like an inflated balloon.

“I-I…” Arthur didn’t even know how to apologize, let alone even trying to get the message out. Instinct? Anticipation? Oh he had really done it this time.

Rory took a minute to breathe.

“J-Just hold on a minute.” He begged, covering his mouth and staring at the floor for a long moment before trying again. “…you’re actually _gay_? I thought you said it was…a rumor?”

Arthur wanted to hide himself from complete existence. He felt that it would be worse to even admit that he had thought the very same way about Rory too. His eyes darted to the floor, too quiet to even speak audibly.

“S-Sorry.”

“ _Fucking hell,_ ” Rory cursed, pacing around. “I’m sorry, mate. I’m not…” his voice was shaking. “I-I’m straight, alright?”

“I’m _so sorry_ ,” Arthur insisted, retreating back himself. “I-I really am! I didn’t mean to do that, I _swear_ to you –”

“Just don’t mention this to anyone.” Rory interrupted. “And I’ll forget this happened.”

Judging by the voice and by the coldness of his eyes, he felt that it was more than a “shut up”.

“…Of course not.”

* * *

Apparently, Arthur and Rory weren’t the only two in the washroom at the time. That’s what Arthur suspected anyway. The insults and teases began the second he had stepped through the classroom doors, but even _that_ wasn’t the end of it. Physical violence was became a necessary, and the gym was almost an equivalent to a torture chamber when it came to towels. He hadn’t caught sight of Rory that day either, and he didn’t quite know if he should feel glad that he wasn’t go through what he was going through. He was still probably royally pissed at him for life. But that was livable, he supposed.

Matters only became worse when Mrs. McLaughlin discovered the crudely drawn picture of Arthur (the one with the huge eyebrows, obviously) and Rory kissing on the white board behind the world map.

The woman shot Arthur a look before quickly scanning the area to see whomever was also laughing at this vandalism too, and never before had he ever been so terrified of a white board eraser in his life.

The entire group, including Arthur, was sent down to the counsellor’s office. The counsellor was of no help, other than redirecting the students right into the principal’s. It was another long lecture before there was any punishment involved. Those students were suspended for the rest of the week while Arthur was allotted one day to stay home if he chose to. No one was talkative by then, and all of them only waited until their parents drove them home.

Arthur sat uneasily in his chair, waiting for his mother to arrive. The receptionist offered the kindest smile she could muster when she noticed that he was one of the last ones there.

But when his mother came, she had deliberately avoided his eyes as she quickly gave a nod in consent before taking him straight home for the rest of the day.

* * *

“Shit…”

The pillow provided no comfort to his throbbing skull. Mother had beaten his head with that large Bible at least fifty times when he confessed, and sent him to bed with no supper. This was a norm, and nothing was super unusual about it, at least under this house hold. His brothers received the same treatment too, but he didn’t often like to stick around to see it. He had recalled only making her mad like this when he decided to walk home from school instead of waiting for her to finish her work. He should be thankful that she wouldn’t let them sleep in the rain.

His aching stomach was hurting now; so much that he almost wished that he had eaten that apple that fell on the lunchroom floor. He sighed. No use whining about something like that. Hopefully someone could sneak him something in the morning. Arthur sat up and adjusted his glasses again to look outside his window. The welcoming woods were directly under the pale moonlight, and the glass before him was muffling the sounds of crickets and croaks from outside. With a push, he opened the foggy window to let the cool breeze come forth and wash his aching head with imaginary comfort.

The forest was a nice place to be, and a younger, five-year-old Arthur would agree to that. Hide and seek was a popular favorite before Peter was born, and even now he recalled fond memories of it. Allistor usually would be the one hunting them down while they all scattered away to avoid the water balloons.

Arthur would then race up the tree and score getting away and sneaking home while getting first dibs on dinner. And no one had yet been able to figure out how he was able to pull that off.

Arthur smiled at that. It seemed more comfortable back then, and the world felt less confusing that way.

But then, it was also the time when their father was still alive and mother was less strict on them.

He looked at the clock, which read 11:48pm.

A walk through the woods wouldn’t kill anyone.

Arthur let a foot on the other side of the window as he steadied himself to climb out. His room was on the first floor, so it was a very easy to get out whenever he wanted. He hadn’t actually done it before, to be fair, but at least he was glad for the option to get out anyway.

Suddenly his bedroom door opened and Arthur glanced back quickly. Mother.

 _“Arthur James Kirkland!”_  She almost shrieked, dropping a book from her hands before racing over. “ _Where in God’s name do you think you’re going, young man? Get back here!_ ”

In a blurry panic, Arthur scramble himself out as quickly as he could. Mother looked so _frightening_.

She had gotten a hold of his wrist, making him scream in pain when she squeezed. Sharp fingernails that dug into the skin felt like little syringes placing their poison. He didn’t dare stop as he screamed. With a final tug, he at last broke free and tumbled out into the grass. His glasses knocked off his face when he landed on his back.  

The air was colder outside, especially with his pajamas on. He was in no condition to really be out, but there wasn’t a choice anymore. Arthur sprinted away as quickly as he could into those woods and despite the weather outside, it was the only freedom that promised any safety in the world anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> _Posted January 12, 2016_


End file.
